


The Truth in Masquerade

by inlovewithnight



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-13
Updated: 2008-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	The Truth in Masquerade

Maggie gives him the ticket, shoves it into his hand and tells him to clear the hell out for the afternoon, give her a few hours of gods-damned peace in her own frakking apartment. They're sharing it while they wait out the stretch between reassignments; the Fleet said to stick around Caprica City but didn't offer a rack to stick around in. Splitting a place seemed like a good idea when they were only supposed to be landside for a few weeks, but it was stretching into the second month now. Apparently they were starting to step on each other's toes, though he hadn't noticed until he had the ticket in his hand and a door slamming behind him and a declaration of intent to have very energetic sex with someone who would be there in half an hour ringing in his ears.

He hopes whoever it is brings more booze than the two of them can drink by themselves. The apartment well has been dry for a week now, and between assignments means between paychecks as far as the Fleet's concerned in these tumultuous times. He can hear Admiral Chernin's whiny voice on the vidcast just thinking about it. Retroactive payment as soon as they're on their next ship, frakking lot of good that does them now. Starve to death by Saturnalia.

He belatedly wonders where Maggie got the cash for the ticket.

Ask that question later, if ever. He stretches his legs out under the seat in front of him, blinking up at the clear blue sky over the court. The dome was retracted today, the weather perfect for an open-air game. Conventional wisdom says that favors the Bucs, though Helo isn't sure why. Picon didn't have a sun?

His eyes wander to his left. A woman is making her way down the row, ignoring the low, irritated muttering as she blocks the view of the court just seconds from the starting horn. Well. Maybe a third of the spectators are muttering, the rest are staring at her. Helo has to admit his inclination falls that way as well, because she's gorgeous, pre-Reform Aphrodite in a sea-green sundress, blonde hair falling around her shoulders in waves.

She sinks into seat 13, and he silently thanks whatever little house-god sent seat 11 into Maggie's hand, and whatever other one made the person in seat 12 stay home today.

She smiles a little as the starting horn blares, and closes her eyes. That doesn't quite make sense; the horn means the game's starting, which to most people means watch the court, watch the C-Bucs do their thing.

Which in this case is allowing an instant turnover to the Pikes, so maybe she has the right idea after all.

The crowd roars like something that's been hurt, and her smile grows wider. He leans across the empty seat and speaks softly into her ear.

"So where do your loyalties lie?"

He expects her to jump, but instead she goes still, her eyes closing more tightly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Caprica or Picon?" He sits back, belatedly realizing that he probably scared her. "Sorry. Just wondered what team you were cheering for."

"Oh." Her eyes open and she looks down at the court, frowning slightly as the Bucs claim the ball again. "Caprica, I suppose, but I'm not...I just enjoy watching the game."

"Probably the best way to do it." She doesn't look at him, just keeps her eyes on the court with the same slightly pensive expression. "Anders, he's a machine, huh?"

"He's very good." She brushes her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear in an absent, delicate gesture, then glances at the empty seat between them. "I wish I'd been here to see him break the record a few weeks ago."

"I missed that one too." Apparently if conversation's going to happen, she won't be the one to pursue it. Maggie would tell him to leave her the frak alone. He can't quite seem to manage it. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"What?"

He taps his knuckles on the empty seat. "Waiting for someone?"

She stares at the seat for a long moment, her frown deepening. "He's not coming."

"Everything okay?"

She looks directly at him for the first time, her eyes so blue and sharp he thinks they might cut him. "I'm not sure that's any of your business."

"Probably not." He shrugs. "But I'm trying to make conversation."

"You are aware that there's a game going on."

"I hadn't noticed." He nods at the seat again. "Why isn't your friend coming?"

Her mouth twitches slightly. He can't tell if it's toward a smile or a frown. "He's gone off-world for a few days. Away from the riots."

They both wrinkle their noses in unconscious unison, seeking out the lingering smell of tear gas and gunpowder that still haunts the air. "He didn't take you with him?"

"I didn't feel it was necessary."

"You're probably right." He shifts, turning to face her and leaning against the arm of the empty seat between them. "You know the one good thing about the riots?"

"I can't imagine." She looks away from him, back to the court, her face settling into its unhappy mask again. "People can just be so...awful."

"Well, yeah. The one good thing is from a purely selfish perspective." He glances down at the game, where Anders is running in for another score. "A machine, I'm telling you."

"What is your selfish perspective?"

"There's a chance the city will hire all the Fleeters on the planet to do crowd control and dispersal, so my roommate and I might get a few days' work."

Her eyebrows fly up as she looks at him again. "You're in the Fleet?"

"Agathon, Karl C., lieutenant junior grade." He offers his hand and she shakes it after a moment's hesitation. "You know anybody in the service?"

She blinks twice, her eyes unfocusing slightly, before she smiles. "Yes. A few."

"Friends or family?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Lieutenant Agathon."

He offers his best smile. "Just making conversation."

"You mentioned that." She looks at him for a moment, something calculating crossing her expression. "I think you could use your time a little better by buying me a drink."

It's about as good a sendoff as he can think of for the last few credits he has on him. "Before I do that, you think you could tell me your name?"

She gives him the kind of smile that could give a man nightmares, if he was so inclined. "No."  
**  
He comes back with two bottles of cheap ambrosia, and this time sits down without leaving the empty seat between them. "What did I miss?"

"Taleo fouled out." She tilts her head back to take a long, slow swallow. He watches her throat with appreciation, because she obviously wants him to. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He swings his feet up onto the back of the seat in front of him. "So, I got the impression before that you didn't want to trade life stories."

"I really don't."

"So tell me something that's _not_ your life story."

She shoots him a puzzled look, and he gives himself a mental point for cracking that smooth surface for a moment, putting her even briefly off-balance. "What?"

"Tell me anything about you, as long as it's a lie."

She angles her body toward him, crossing her legs as she does so that her skirt falls in artfully alarming lines. "But you've already told me some things about you that are true."

He shrugs and takes a long drink of his own, digging the heel of his hand hard against his thigh to keep his face impassive. "You don't know that for sure."

Her eyes narrow a fraction and the game is on, the set of her shoulders suddenly changing to a predator's energy. He's met enough Fleet women to know that when he sees it, to recognize it with his whole body. "I'm from Geminon."

"The country or the convents?" he asks, but she ignores him, setting her drink aside and running her fingers through her hair.

"I'm here looking for adventure. Excitement. A pure experience." She meets his eyes and there's a challenge there, daring him to play along. "Something I would never find where I'm from."

Something has turned all the way upside down in the last few minutes, just since he got back from the bar, and he can't for the life of him tell what. All he can tell is that he's lost the upper hand, completely and irrevocably. His hands are off the controls and just hanging on for dear life, and Gods help him, he doesn't mind.

She's still looking at him with that challenge in her eyes, and he does his best to rise to meet it. "Well...you're sure to find that here. Caprica's the center of everything. Caprica City's the center of that."

"Tell me something about you. A truth, not a lie." It's an order and he's a soldier. He's opening his mouth to answer long before he starts to think.

"I have six brothers, three sisters, and a dog back home."

She blinks twice and then starts laughing, biting her lower lip between her teeth. "Not quite what I expected you to say."

He shrugs, blushing a little. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Where is home?"

"Tauron." He takes a drink to buy a minute. "Can I try again?"

"I think I'd like to ask you something a little more specific."

"All right."

She uncrosses her legs, her skirt fluttering around her knees, and leans in closer to him. "When was the last time you had sex?" He stares at her for a minute, not quite able to close his mouth, and she starts laughing again. "Not quite what you expected me to say?"

"Not exactly."

"I do my best to be full of surprises." She stands up and glances towards the court without a shred of interest. "The Buccaneers are walking away with this. No need to watch the rest."

"I suppose not." He watches her move toward the aisleway, wondering just what god chose his name at random to frak around with today, his eyes watching the lines of her dress until she stops and looks back over her shoulder.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Oh." He scrambles to his feet and almost trips over the bottle she left behind. "Yes ma'am. Yes, I am."

"Good." She starts walking again and he falls into step behind her, changing his confusion with the gods into most ardent thanks. He might even manage an offering later, the shirt off his back if they'll take it, because this, this right here, is a miracle.  
**  
The Pyramid arena is as littered with storage rooms as any building its size has to be. Helo would have expected them to be locked, but the woman twists the doorknob to one and it opens under her hand with a low groan of metal like the hinges are stiff.

The only light comes from small, dirty windows placed high on the walls, and in the dimness she looks like something slightly unreal, flashes of gold and green and smooth tawny skin as she moves toward the back wall. She reaches back without looking and he takes her hand, lets her pull him along until she reaches the wall and turns, catching the back of his neck and kissing him hard.

She holds him like a cat holds prey, firmly enough that it hurts. He can ignore that, because her mouth is warm and open, and she's curving one of her legs around his, the silk of her dress whispering against the rougher fabric of his trousers. Her other hand slides down the front of his body, reaching his cock and palming it gently through his clothes. She chuckles softly against his mouth, a low pleased sound that sends a jolt through his entire body.

She has his fly open quickly, adding quick teasing touches with her long, sure fingers as she does, and then she steps away and leans her back against the wall, sliding her hands down her thighs and then up again, gathering the fluid green silk. He moves in close to press against her, find the balance between their heights and masses, finally catching her hips and boosting her up to find the angle he needs.

Under the dress she's only wearing a little bit of silk and lace, and he works that down with one hand, the other gripping her hip tight enough that she groans against his mouth. The sound is more hungry than pained, and from the way she's letting her teeth catch his tongue and lower lip, and her nails drag against his neck, she agrees that it's made sweeter by a little sharpness, anyway.

"Now," she says, something like a growl in her voice. He shakes his head, rubbing two fingers against her and then pressing them inside her, hissing between his teeth at how hot she is, how wet. Her hand tightens against the back of his neck, demanding. " _Now_."

His body reacts like it's attuned to her voice, like he doesn't have a choice but to obey. She feels even hotter around him, as if she's heating up from her core as they frak, and he buries himself in her as deep as he can, bracing her against the wall. He can hear the silk of her dress snagging and popping as it tears against the rough brick with his thrusts and her counter-movements, riding down against him. Her head is back, hair rubbing against the wall as well, throat bared, mouth open, soft sounds escaping with each breath.

Afterwards, she ignores the hand he offers to steady her, finding her balance effortlessly in her delicate, absurd high heels, like something woven around her feet by a metallic spider. The back of her dress is roughened, no longer perfect, but it still falls around her in smooth waves, every step she takes one that lifts her out of the ocean.

"I'll tell you one thing that's true, Karl," she says, running her hands through her hair, shaking out the heavy waves. A few strands are caught in the bricks, he sees, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching out and plucking them free, rolling them between his fingers as something to keep.

"All right."

She reaches out and touches her fingers to his lips. He meets her eyes, so bright and suddenly, unexpectedly sorrowful.

"Treasure each moment you have," she says, "because sooner than you think, everything ends."

The words stop his breath in his chest, and before he can speak she's through the door and gone. He stands there in the faint light for a few moments more, letting his pulse slow and puzzling through the abruptly ominous words, the sudden change in the day like a cloud passing over the sun.

When he steps out of the room, there's no sign of her, and while the game is still going on, he doesn't have the stomach for it. He walks back to Maggie's apartment, taking his time, detouring through quiet neighborhoods where the smell of smoke and ashes is covered by cooking food, window-box flowers, soap from corner laundries.

When he gets back to the apartment, Maggie is sitting on the steps, her heels bouncing against the cement impatiently. "Where have you been?" she calls, tossing a pebble at him. "I've been waiting for half an hour."

"I was at the game," he says, passing his hand over her hair, snatching it away when she smacks at him. "I had the weirdest thing--"

"Save it." She bounces to her feet, cutting him off with a wave of her hand and pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. "We finally got our shipping-out orders, baby."

"Frak me," he says, trying to catch a glimpse of the print as she waves the letter around like a flag. "When?"

"Three weeks from tomorrow."

"So we're still going to starve."

"No," she grins, pointing up at the sky, and he follows the gesture to a dull cloud gathering in the distance. "South Quarter's burning, and the city begs our assistance, if we think we have the time."

"I think we can spare it," he mumbles, squinting at the smoke, wondering how he missed the smell once he left the neighborhoods, if he just willed himself to ignore what he didn't want to know.

"Go get your ID and let's get moving, okay? You can tell me about your crazy Pyramid adventures later."

"Yeah," he says, starting up the steps, "I will." Later, when this was over, when there is a minute, he'll tell her all about it. There's nothing but time.

He can't remember if that's the truth or the lie.  



End file.
